Retribution's Seeker
by Blackprincess666
Summary: I present to you a lovely story by my very handsome Boyfriend. Please give him lots of love and not a lot of hate. Thank you!
1. Preface

_I am not a child of the Damned. The masses, blinded by fear and anger, have a delusional sense of what I have become. I am a successor of noble lineage. The howls of my brethren echo throughout my soul. My heart pounds with the thrill of the hunt. My blood burns with the fire of a thousand suns at the scent of decay. Some say I am a monster. They say that I am a vile, putrid creature that must be put down. Others…ask what exactly I am?_

 _I am the watcher of the shadows. I patrol the wilds of the vast forests._

 _I am the Damned's executioner._

… _.And I seek retribution._

 _For with every death comes honor and with honor, redemption._

~ Spens Greymane


	2. Chapter 1

The echoing shrieks of the Damned followed behind the fleeing shadow of Marlowe. Darting from tree to tree, bush to bush, bramble to bramble, the figure fled from the grisly scene behind him. The stench of warm blood and cold decay permeated throughout the wood. High in the mountains, a wood such as this was once a rare blessing, but to Marlowe it only hindered his flight from the ghouls. Running through the primordial forest proved only to give him a few moments ahead of the relentless horde. The detour through the trees was meant to gain some ground ahead of the Damned, but the only thing it gave him was scrapes and cuts from the foliage. The cold night air only heightened his sense of urgency. The crisp air meant that the winter storms were on their way. If he did not reach the lower reaches of the range, he was sure to be killed by the cold.

Marlowe shuddered at the idea of being torn and ripped apart like a rag doll. His blood thundered in his ears. He had watched helplessly as these monsters had overrun the gates of his home city and destroyed the only world he knew. His family, his friends, all were no match for the threat that had swarmed the city. The noises racked at his mind and snapped him out of his delirium. The maddening sounds of restless shuffling and breathless moans followed mere paces behind the fleeing shadow of the man.

Running was a naturally gifted talent that Marlowe had honed over the course of his thirty-four winters. He was from the the mountainous northern kingdom of Loxamore. His town, Jaspero, was sat comfortably at the foot of the ancient mountain ranges of the Rezion. In its heyday, Jaspero was the center of trade and commerce for the mining communities within the ranges and the center of military power of Loxamore. With walls nearly fifty paces tall, Jaspero was all but impenetrable. Its greatest defense however was a sheer cliff face that the churches had chiseled into to create their holy sanctuary.

That was the golden age of Jaspero. A long forgotten period in history where the sky was cloudless and magic was practiced throughout the land. Three thousand winters have come and gone from that era. Now Jaspero's former prosperity is fading from the legends to myth, the citizens believe their town had always been one of poverty. They have forgotten the truth about their noble lineage and curse their forefathers. The curses intensified when the Damned overran the city guards.

His legs pumping as hard as he could, Marlowe sprinted ahead of the undead legion. The harder he ran the further the countryside became foreign to him. The land he knew, the endless crags and deep valleys of the mountains, faded behind him and evolved into the rolling green forests of Asmeron. Strangely enough, so too did the echoes of the Damned. Only when the last shrieks died away did he slow his pace.

Cautiously Marlowe stopped and listened all the harder to find the screams and moans. He only found the terrifying silence of an alien world. His blood continued to pound in his ears. Marlowe put his hands over his ears, in vain, to stop the madness in his head.

In his mind's eye, he saw his betrothed surrounded by the countless decaying bodies of the Damned. He could hear her cries as they bloodied her clothes and shredded her tender flesh with their claw like hands.

He was the last to hear her dying screams calling out to him, " Marlowe! Help me, please?! Please, I don't want to-". The last of her sentence was cut off as the claws raked and shredded her throat. Her final words came as blood filled gurgles.

Hot tears welled in his eyes. "I'll never see her again. My dearest Felicity…," he whispered to himself. He slumped against an ironwood tree and began to sob. His knees buckled and warm tears streamed down his cheeks. "Never. Never again. I love you so much Felicity," he croaked through his sobbing.

A rustling in the treetops snapped his eyes open. Drawing his gaze upward, he squinted against the darkness and the tears to see what had made the noise. A soft blue glow illuminated the canopy of the ironwood. Marlowe wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and focused on the blue light. As he looked closer into the treetop, he saw a shape move closer to him. Fearing that it was a Damned scout, he clambered onto his feet and fought his way out of the darkness of his mind.

He took one step away from the tree and heard a soft voice call from the tree, " Marlowe? Is that really you?"

He stopped in his tracks. Frightened, he turned around and gazed up at his love, Felicity. She was sitting on an upper branch of the ironwood. Her plain white dress swirled in the cool breeze marching through the trees. She looked as beautiful as she ever had. Her soft auburn curls bounced in the wind. The moonlight that cut through the branches reflected off her ivory skin. Her lips were full and smiling down at him. Her eyes were again bright, shining green stars. Felicity's throat had no marks of abuse on it.

Marlowe clenched his head in his hands. " You're not real. Felicity is dead. I saw it. She was ripped apart by the Damned," he screamed at her.

She hopped down from her perch in the tree. When she hit the ground, she rolled and sprang up in front of him. "I'm alive my love. I am _very_ real. And I love you, Marlowe. I forgive you for not being able to help me," she said closing the distance between her and Marlowe.

She walked slowly up to him and hugged him tightly. " I missed you so much. I feared that those monstrosities had killed you."

Stunned, Marlowe hugged her back and found her to be completely solid. "This is no dream. This is real! She's alive! Right here in my arms." He thought excitedly.

He reached down and pulled up her chin that was plastered against his chest. Holding her face in his hands, he kissed her lovingly. He pulled her away and looked deeply into her emerald eyes.

" I love you too my heart."

"Good," she replied happily.

He kissed her again softly and looked into her eyes. He smiled warmly.

A bolt of burning pain shook his body. His eyes opened wide and stared into Felicity's. Her full ruby lips curled into a smug smile. The faint blue glow began to fade from her body. Her green eyes slowly transformed into milky yellow orbs. Her skin began to become taut and stretched over her moonlight cut that through canopy revealed her once beautiful face. The skin upon her face was tattered and torn. Upon her face was a mutilated mask of flesh carved from his beloved.

Marlowe's breaths became ragged and labored. He licked his lips as the taste of iron fill his mouth. The world started to sway and become engulfed in a white haze. He looked down at his chest. A dagger's serrated green blade stuck nearly a finger's length out of his breast. The imposter twisted the blade sharply sending Marlowe to his knees with a scream.

As his life essence drained into the forest floor, he watched in horror as the imposter tore her mask of skin and revealed a gaunt, maggot ridden head with patches of skin and bone. The hair of the figure in front of him was just tattered as her flesh. Instead of a dress, this woman wore leathers of various creatures. Her ribs could be seen protruding from her chest. At her hips, she wore a belt with a short sword and an empty dagger sheath. Her boney fingers drummed on the hilt of her sword. The creature sneered down at the wimping figure of Marlowe.

"Why? Why would you do this?!" he cried as he coughed up blood.

"Oh darling, don't you see? I relish to make my prey suffer," she snarled, her eyes narrowing. She pulled her sword feel and with unnatural strength freed Marlowe's head from his shoulders. His body became rigid and his eyes stared up at her. A slow rattled hissed from his lungs. She kicked him in the chest and watched as his head rolled away.

Smirking, she knelt down and wrenched her dagger free of the body's heart. Standing up with the green blade in her hand she flipped it in the air and caught it by the hilt. She grinned darkly and wiped her fingers along the blade's length gathering Marlowe's blood on them. Lifting them to her decayed lips, she licked each one hungrily. She stood over the body savoring the taste of the fresh kill for many moments before she at last overcame the sensation of hunger. Wiping the remainder of the crimson blood on the body's cloth pants, she casually strolled back to her command tent back in Damned's camp through the passing moonlight.


	3. Chapter 2

The birds sang their glorious songs without pause. All the creatures of the forest, eager from their long hibernation, bounded through the wood without a care. The smell of fresh morning dew still hung in the air. A pair of foxes chased each other through the thicket, yipping and playing as they do. All was right in the world for new life to begin anew. The bright spring day was warmed the souls of the forest's inhabitants.

But of all the flourishing life that was in abundance, there was a scent of something wrong. The woodland creatures that kept at their constant chatter were far away from where a man chopped his firewood. The scent of unnatural decay permeated throughout the forest. A scent that caused Spens Greymane to be on guard. Spens loosened the strap on his halberd and slipped it off his bare back. He was a tall man of thirty-four winters. Spens's steel gray eyes continuously scanned the forest for threats. His head was covered in dark red hair and a beard to match. His matted mane of hair stuck to his sweat beaded skin as he swung his hatchet to split more firewood. His muscular body shook with each impact of the strikes. Wiping the sweat out of his eyes, his hand crossed over a half moon scar that circled around his right eye. He traced the scar with his fingers, letting his mind wander as he felt the rough skin.

His mind drifted eventually to his former home of Jaspero. Spens had left behind everything he knew in order to begin his mission. He never knew what his mother had looked like for she died giving birth to him and his twin sister, Grace.

Grace had been the light of his world and he her protector. She had been the essence of charity and love. From a young age, Grace became the perfect image that their father had wanted for child. She was well trained in the arts of dancing, reading, and speaking. Spens had often had troubles speaking properly for he had a strong stutter. Grace, in her constant generosity, helped her twin learn how to focus on his words enough to speak as elegantly as she.

Whereas Grace was the perfect child, Spens was the constant disappointment. Even from his young age, he could always tell who their father prefered to have around their house. Spens was often a clumsy child and would break bones while climbing trees and playing outside. His father, in his lack of experience with children, tried to mend the bones himself. That only caused further problems for the young Spens. The bones never having been set properly gave the young boy constant pains that would incapacitate him if he strained too hard at an activity.

His father, Dren, a bitter man, raised them both on his own. He had never married after Spens's mother died. From the stories that were told to him and Grace by other members of their town, their father was once a caring man and enjoyed his life. He never stopped smiling when he was with his wife. Always happy they were and more so when he learned that he was to be a father, but his joy was shattered as he held his beloved wife's hand as her life slipped between them. The midwife had said that she had not a chance to live. In his defiance, Dren prayed to the Maker to save her. As she laid in labor, he watched as his love slipped farther and farther away from his world. After that day, Dren was a cold, distant man who became solely involved with his work.

Spens's father was a minor political figure and former blacksmith for the court of Loxamore. His craftsmanship for the ancient forms of smithing were known throughout the country. Empowered Rune inlaid weapons, and armor were his speciality, but he could craft all of the simplest tools to the sharpest common weapons in the town. From a friend, Spen's father only took up the position of Councilman for the extra pay. Along with the position came the title of Baron from the royal court.

Baron Dren Greymane was commissioned to craft gold inlaid armor for the next king of Loxamore. The magnificent armor was created from the rarest blue iron and mithril. Using the most powerful runes, Dren crafted an impenetrable suit of plate that could withstand anything next to dragonsfire.

During Spens's fifthteenth winter, something extraordinary changed within his father. In the cover of night, his father hauled him off to his smithy's shop. When they reached the old shop, Dren walked Spens into the middle of the room and went back to the door and latched it close. The darkness of the room caused Spens to squint to see his father.

Dren sighed and looked back at his son's shadowy form. "I know I haven't always been the greatest father to you my boy," he said in his deep rumbling voice. "I've made it seem like I don't appreciate you, that I favor your sister. You're the spitting image of your old man," he continued shaking his auburn hair. Dren struck a match and lit a candle next to the door. He turned slowly and locked his cold steel eyes on his Spens.

"Spens, my son, I have tried to protect you from your own blunders. I have tried to mend your faults. But no longer, I'm done being cautious," he strided toward Spens. Dren was a tall man built like an ox. As Dren moved across his shop, he motioned for Spens to move out of the way. Dren stopped at a lever on the far wall and pulled down on it.

Suddenly the blacksmith's shop was flooded with molten gold light and heat. Spens was stunned at the appearance of the shop. His father had never allowed either of his children to enter the shop. The smithy was his safe haven from his worldly problems, he always told them when they asked to go see it. As Spens peered around the shop, his father watched carefully from his place by the lever. All around the shop laid finished projects of his father's creation. There were common tools like pickaxes, hatchets, and the more exquisite weapons he had crafted. Silver plated daggers and swords, hefty bluish battle axes, and mighty swords adorned the racks and walls of the small shop. Iron shields rested against open walls and reflected the dancing firelight.

The shop was not as large as Spens had expected, but it all was well kept and cozy inside the shop.

He turned a questioning eye toward his father. "Why are you showing me this?" he asked curtly. "You've wanted nothing to do with me since I was born."

"Nothing I have ever done has pleased you," he added bitterly.

"I know that this is a change Spens. But I brought you here to train you in my craft… if you will have me as a teacher," Dren told him. "I brought you to learn how to not only create your own tools for survival, but also forge yourself a new destiny…"

His father's words echoed in Spens's mind as he split the firewood with a loud _thwack_. He smiled to himself.

"Those were the brighter times. No death. No destruction." he murmured to himself.

The sounds of steel striking steel broke Spens from his daydream. He frowned at the erupting noise that had drowned out the natural voices of the forest. Looking for the source of the sound in the dense forest was next to impossible for the average person, but not for Spens. He had spent many fortnights in this wood to know the entire region of the forest floor. Just to the north was a small dirt trade route that cut through the forest. The sounds of the clanging steel died away after a short time.

"Damn merchants," Spens cursed to himself. "Never have any common courtesy for those who actually enjoy the sounds of nature," he sighed.

This normally quiet wood was not the ideal spot for a camp. The canopy only allowed for small shafts of sunlight to pierce through to the forest floor. While most of his camp was bathed in sunlight, he kept a cautious eye for any scavengers lurking around for an easy meal. Gathering up his firewood, Spens carried the load over, next to the small fire and placed it in neat piles for that night's upcoming supper. Walking back to his chopping block, he retrieved his halberd from the ground.

Holding the weapon in his hands filled him with enormous pride. His father had crafted it as his last project as Forgemaster at the old family smithy. The heavy green mithril axe head and red iron pole was a work of art in itself. While it did not look like much, it's true power laid with the runes etched onto the axe blade. Dren had invested all of his heart and soul into crafting such a powerful tool for his only son. The halberd was completely resistant to most forms of magic and all forms of battleborn abuse. As his crowning achievement, Dren allowed Spens to name it himself. Spens named it _Wolf's Fang_.

"Don't you think that's a little on the nose, boy? As Greymane's, we are already associated with the wolves. Something I'm not entirely proud of, but it is what it is. Why not name it something different?" Dren had asked.

"No. I _am_ proud of our lineage. I can hear their howls echo through the mountain tops. They are not the monsters to which everyone believes. They are a noble creature, loyal and true. I want your legacy to be just the same and live through this weapon," Spens replied.

Clasping Spens on the shoulder, Dren smiled. "Then _Wolf's Fang_ it shall be."

"Just remember one thing Spens. Our family, while noble and just, hasn't always been the most trusting people to meet. People in these parts sometimes fear our lineage. The wolves blood thunders deeply in our veins. We are the rare breed of man that can communicate with them and understand their plight. It is not only because of our namesake, but people in these parts of our world fear wolves above all else. Wolves are thought to be beastly animals that see us as walking dinners for them to chase."

"Uncontrollable anger and fear is what drives people to kill these creatures on sight. This rage can sit and fester, causing more chaos. In rage, the seed of corruption can sprout and can never be stopped. People do not think when they are angry, instead they blindly follow such radical emotions that can lead to devastation. Killing in that state for such a time, then leads to bloodlust.

"This is a vicious cycle that people succumb to when they are weak and don't use their head," Dren spat at the floor. "One lesson you need to take from me, my boy, is that you must not let yourself fall into the cycle, or else you will bring ruin to everything you hold dear."

Taking his father's words to heart, Spens spent the next term of his training with maintaining a balance between the torrent of emotions that he had within him and the harmony of his spirit. But that had all changed, anger was now part of his being.

Thumbing the raised runes on the pole Spens said to himself, "Never forget." He smiled down at the halberd. "After these years later, it's still looks fresh from the forge.

A ruckus from the north pierced Spens's ears. Scanning around the surrounding trees, he saw nothing out of place from the night before. Gathering up his black leather jerkin and shoulder strap, he slid into over his head as he continued to listen for the noises. Carefully sliding his halberd into its proper place on his back. After feeling the comforting weight pulling down on his shoulders, he sent off in the direction of the noise.


	4. Chapter 3

A lone horse drawn carriage waited for Spens on the main road the kingdoms of Loxamore and Asmeron. The carriage had apparently driven off the side of the road and was stuck in thick mud. The noises that had pierced through Spens's thoughts had been the clanging and cursing of a small portly man. The man holding an old hammer waddled into his view. The man only came up to just above Spens's belly and was just as round. His weathered face showed him to be far older than Spens. His long silver hair was tied neatly behind the man's head. His silver mustache was bristled from his fury at the carriage. Wiping his hands on a grey apron that was stretched around his waist, he bent down and began working on the wheel of his carriage.

"Every damn time I come through this Maker forsaken forest something has to happen," he swore to himself. He tried to lift the carriage up but to no avail. His irritation only grew. He cursed and kicked at the wheels and the carriage itself.

Chuckling to himself, Spens stepped out of the shadows of the trees. "Hail, friend!" Spens called. "What seems to be the problem with your carriage?"

Startled from his cursing, the man jolted upright. In his haste, he slammed his head against the body of the buggy. Howling in pain, he fell to his knees hugging his head.

Containing his laughter as best he could, Spens yanked the poor man to his feet. "Are you alright?" he asked earnestly.

"My head feels like an axe has split it in half!" the little man shrieked at Spens, his hands still covering his head. "How do you think I feel, you fiend?! You tried to kill me!"

"Trust me friend, if I ever had the slightest thought of killing you, you really would have an axe blade buried in your skull."

The man opened his cold brown eyes and looked up at Spens. Scanning Spens face, the man's eyes widened at the sight of the half moon scar around his eye. Bracing for the torrent of insults that others had thrown at him, Spens readied himself for the worse. The man's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Take what you want, you filthy mongrel," he said through gritted teeth. "Your kind already does. First the mines to the north, then the slaughter of hundreds at Jaspero. I hope you choke on the next bone your unholy kind devour. You all have haunted the wilds of the mountains and of the forests for too long.

"Does it give you pleasure that you orphan children while you consume their mothers and fathers. Does it give your kind a sick twisted thrill to devour your victims bodies, as their children watch from afar, or when you force them to watch the whole spectacle. Or even worse when you force them to watch as your lieutenants perform their hellish experiments," he spat on the ground.

"Your kind are monsters, worgen, and should be exterminated."

Patiently, Spens listened to the little man's words echo throughout the woods.

"Worgen?" He thought "I have never been called that before. Lycan, hellspawn, werewolf, yes, but not ever _worgen_."

Spens smiled sadly, "I have no need of your merchandise good sir. I only wished to know if you were fine after your carriage fell off the road. You made such a ruckus that you disturbed me in my thoughts. I am happy to pay for your goods, whatever it is that you sell, but I will not steal from a noble man such as yourself." He reached into his coin purse and flipped the man one gold coin.

The merchant caught it and cast a suspicious eye on Spens. "Why should I trust you, fiend? The Damned never let go of one of their own."

Spens's anger flared at the man before him, but he suppressed it. "Because unlike my 'fellow' brethren…" Spens's voice trailed off as he felt for his own power within himself, a power that no one other than his own mind could comprehend. The torrent of deep seeded primal rage was felt just beyond the recesses of his consciousness. Spens gasped the power and let it fill his being. His power did not change his personality or his mind, to him it only heightened his senses. His ethics were still the same and all of his honor laid intact.

But what did change was his body. Spens's already hulking form took on an even more menacing appearance. His chiseled arms slowly grew thick black hair and became even more muscular. His fingers grew into long claws that were covered in grey fur. His face morphed into one that resembled more of a wolf than a man. His red hair and beard were replaced by fur that was darker than the deepest night. Two long fangs protruded from Spen's muzzle. His scar only intensified his beastly appearance. His eyes however, did not change, but took on an inner glow of their own.

"Because unlike my 'fellow' brethren," Spens began again. "I can control my more…irrational behavior. Unlike them, I value human life above my own." he put his hand on the merchant's shoulder. He flashed a dangerous toothy grin at the man. "What is your name stranger?" Spens asked.

The man gulped and looked at his shoulder. " My name is Oswald, good kind sir," he stuttered nervously. "Oswald Volosky."

"Well met Oswald, I am Spens Greymane." Spens replied still smiling. His smile dashed away. "Now tell me about _my_ so-called slaughter…" He growled.


	5. Chapter 4

Walking through the main gate, Spens could clearly the sheer cliff that was suppose to protect Jaspero from invasion. The cliff now only proved to make the town inescapable for the inhabitants. The streets of Jaspero, once teeming with life, now only showed life in the rats and other carrion beasts that feasted upon the decaying husks that littered the streets. The long narrow street that carved through the town that was once white cobblestone, now was paint like red and brown brick. From the two story buildings that lined the street, caresses hung suspended from ropes by their necks and some by their wrists. A strong breeze whistled through the rows of houses and businesses, causing the bodies in the air to swing. One of the bodies that hung off of what was once the banker's house, fell off its precarious perch. It hit the ground with a sickening _thwack_. Decayed bits of flesh and bone scattered into the air for a short time before settling back down onto the street. Looking around his former home, looking at the massive lose of life, it filled him with rage.

"These were good people," he said through gritted teeth to Oswald, who stood beside him with his carriage. "Jaspero holds no strategic value, no economic value, not even the politics were generous enough for us to make a living. The only thing was my father's workshop, and that was shut down years ago," he sighed. "Why?" Spens half said to himself.

"They're ruthless beasts and hellspawn, Spens. They do not think. They do not sleep. They cannot die. The Damned are only interested in one thing...Death," Oswald commented staring off at the dead corpse of a mother still holding her now skeletalized baby a short distance away.

"You sound as though you know how the Damned think, my friend," Spens said casting a suspicious eye onto Oswald. "An insight of which most people would kill to retrieve."

Oswald, not listening, walked toward the dead mother and bent down next to her. Her mouth was twisted in an eternal scream as if her voice had never died away. The scavengers had made short work of baby, but she was still completely untouched by the animals. Her gaunt face made her horror even more gruesome. Her wide terror stricken eyes were still fixated on her baby. While her body shielded all of the tiny skeleton, the rest of her body was torn to ribbons of skin. Her legs, broken at the knees, were stripped of flesh. What was left of her torso was bloated and was crawling with insects. While the insect gorged themselves on the poor woman's remains, the constant activity caused her to almost look like she were breathing again. Her skeleton had been tossed aside. The base of her ankles were covered in teeth marks.

"Those fiends sucked out her marrow...bastards… Greedy, Maker-forsaken, bloody bastards!" Oswald roared pointing at the gnawed remains. "I'll kill every single last one of them! They do this you know. They'll toy with their victims using hideous magic to make themselves appear as our loved ones. They fill us with the intoxicating sense of safety, then drive cold steel through your heart."

Volosky's angry brown eyes softened at the woman's face. Quietly, he closed her eyes and murmured a few words of prayer. When he was finished, Oswald looked back at Spens. "You ask why I know so much? I know what I know because I was prisoner of these bastards for eight months," he spat at the ground. "Those forsaken hellspawn stole me from my home. They murdered my family, my friends...everyone," his eyes misted with tears. "No matter where they were, they were slaughtered…" his voice drifted off into the cold wind rushing through the mountain village. Hot tears flooded down his wrinkled cheeks, "I want them to pay for what they did," he croaked.

"I am sorry to hear that, Oswald. My family too was murdered by the Damned. My beloved sister and honorable father were both cut down by these putrid creatures," Spens said walking over to tear stricken Oswald. He placed a firm hand on the older man's shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "They will pay for their transgressions," Spens said

Over the noise of Oswald's sobbing, Spens heard the shuffling of movement. Quickly glancing from shadow to shadow, Spens's guard began to raise. "Get ahold of yourself. They are still here,," he whispered to Oswald. "Now we've got company."

Volosky struggled to his feet and slowly reached for his small knife at his large waist. "If I'm gonna die, it won't be without a fight," he whispered back to Spens.

Pulling free his halberd from its strap, Spens gazed around the small street. "Walk back to the carriage," commanded Spens.

Oswald nodded and began the agonizingly short walk back to the carriage.

Spens watched the shadows for any signs of movement running along in the darkened houses. He watched and listened for any rustling that might give away the Damned's position. "The Damned are getting more clever," he thought to himself. The next instant he saw movement over his right shoulder. "But not clever enough," he smiled grimly.

Heaving his axe head around, Spens caught a decaying corpse in the torso and cleaved it in two. The legs flailed through the air and flew past a crouched Oswald, who was hiding behind his carriage. Its torso flew up and landed in a pile of bodies. A wordless scream echoed throughout the town, curling Spens blood.

The bodies of the townspeople began to reanimate and rise from their unholy rest. Mindless groans filled the air, drowning out any hope of calling to Oswald. The very people Spens had known as a child came at him with lifeless glowing eyes. Some crawled after him and others shuffled along trailing body parts.

Spens swung his halberd again, taking out three of the closest Damned. He heard the crunch of breaking bone as his strikes connected with the hellspawn. Bits of brain matter, flesh, and blood spurted out from the bodies as he swung his weapon. One managed to claw its way to Spens and bite him on the arm. The thing began to shriek as Spens's blood filled its mouth.

Spens laughed madly, "Ha! You don't like the taste of your own poison do you?"He grunted and threw off the invader into the midst of its kin. "I've had enough of this pathetic game!" he shouted at the Damned minions.

He roared at them as his body changed into his true form. His voice darkened into a snarl, "Who's next?" he said as a hellspawn clawed its way up to him.

Spens buried his axe head into the thing's head, dropping it to its boney knees on the ground. Grabbing both its arms, he ripped it apart and flung them into the growing throng surrounding him.

Quickly gathering his axe, Spens swung it in a wide arc in front of him, cleaving numerous Damned in his wake. Dropping his stance low, he just dodged a ranking claws of the masses behind him. Turning his body, he faced the ones coming up behind him. Using his massive strength, he cut an undead from head to groin. The sheer weight and power generated from his blow made Spens bury his halberd into the stone street.

"Damn," he cursed. He turned on the horde awaiting him about use his own claws rip the vile hellspawn to shreds. He backed his way up against a wall of a nearby house. Crouching low, he readied himself for the torrent of disease ridden claws and teeth to come at him,

Suddenly the world grew quiet. The moaning and shuffling stopped. Amazed Spens, looked around at the remainder of the Damned around him. They all were frozen in their tracks...except for one.

The remaining creature moved differently from the rest of the horde. From the back of the massive gathering, the thing moved its way up to where Spens was anxiously waiting. Its gait was nearly human compared to the others. Other than having a normal walk, it moved with assurance and confidence. The thing's black cloaked swished and swirled in the wind. It walked toward Spens then stopped several paces short of him. From the distance, Spens could only make out that it had once been a woman, a dead woman who pulled along the portly form of Oswald Volosky.

The thing sneered at him then slowly smiled. "If you want to finish this fight, lycan, follow me to the old church," it cooed. "Or else… I'll just have to let my new recruits," she motioned to the dead people of Jaspero. "devour your friend here."

"You have no right to be in those sacred halls, hellspawn." Spens growled, eyes glowing brightly.

"You are correct, lycan, I don't. But as you see, you two are the ones out of place here. So if you will...follow me," she said and walked toward the gigantic cliff face.

Seeing no other choice, Spens grounded his teeth and set off towards the former cliff church.


	6. Chapter 5

The enormous sanctuary still looked like the last time Spens had entered the great hall. The large gold basin sat in its place on the stone altar at the head of the rows of pews. The wooden pews smelled of old wooden polish and dust. The candles throughout the hall glowed from the flames inside them. The chiseled stone walls echoed Spens's entering footsteps, His eyes scanned for signs of Oswald or of the dead woman.

"Strange being back isn't it, lycan?" the honeyed voice woman echoed. "The very place where you killed your friends and family. A funny thing about memories, lycan, if they are painful enough they persist through the veil of death and remain a part of your very being. Pain turns into strength to be used against your enemies. Hatred also comes from that pain. It boils and boils suddenly it spills over the pot's lip." the booming voice cooed.

"You speak lies vile spawn! I didn't kill my family." he yelled back at the voice.

"Oh yes, that's right. This form of you did. The primal wolf inside you. Amazing what a the Damned's alchemists can do to a body of a werewolf, is it not? The few pieces of bone marrow and the right chemical formula and we can create mindless lycans to do our bidding," the woman gilded behind Spens. "That's what we did to you, lycan," she whispered in his ear. "We made a mindless weapon for our own."

Spens rounded on her. He grabbed her in his mighty claws and growled, "You know nothing of what I am now." He heaved her at the altar. Crying out as she was thrown through the air, she smacked against the stone altar with a sickening crunch.

Spens stalked after her body. His whole being quivered with rage, his eyes glowed more fiercely, his haunches stood up and bristled. "I am above that now, whelp," he growled. Spens seized her around the shoulders and pinned her forearms against the stone shrine,

"Maybe so. But what of your father, lycan? Oh, how he screamed as _your_ claws raked through his body! And of your sister? What say she? I don't think she has forgiven you for gnawing upon her entrails," she said darkly.

"You have taken pride in knowing that you are the sole survivor of a curse. A curse that many mortal beings have had their minds shattered. Bloodlust is at the core of your power. You, lycan, have found a way to overcome that lust for blood, but it hasn't always been like that. I know you have succumbed to the lust, and in doing so killed your only family," she continued. "You disgraced your father's wisdom and fell victim to mindless rage," she smirked. "A pity too. He was such a great father to you."

"Quiet!" Spens roared at her. He slammed her again against the altar. "You know nothing of what happened, monster." He looked down at her grisly face. The woman's face, while decayed and exposing bone, struck a chord deep within Spens. The shock of clarity came to him then.

A ghost of his past now was locked in his arms.

"Gr-Grace?" he whispered.

"Nice to see you again brother," she whispered huskily.

A bolt of pain emitted from the back of his head. Staggering around to see the next attacker, he saw a flash of silver hair. A second burning pain came from his back. Howling in agony, Spens fell to his knees in front of the altar.

"Why have you done this, Grace?" he called to the growing darkness surrounding his vision, his breaths became short and labored.

"Because I loved to make my prey suffer," she whispered in his ear. She kicked him in the back of the head, knocking Spens to the cold dusty floor.

"Oswald, dear, come with me. We have much to plan for my brother's reunion with his kin."

"Yes, mistress," came the gruff voice of Oswald.

Grace walked beside Spens and bent down. "Back to the wolves with you...brother" She laughed and yanked her green dagger free.

Her laughter echoed through his mind as Spens's world was taken by the darkness.


	7. AN

Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed it. Jake (The author) would love to have feed back on his writing and what you guys think of it. Again thank you so much for reading and I hope to catch you another time. Buh bye! -AN


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